Unraveling Emily (Valla Series Book 1)

by Anna Rezes

  He doesn’t know I’ve already been inside Patrick’s mind. The only thing I learned from the incident was I frighten myself. I’m more powerful than Patrick, but why wouldn’t I be? After all, I’m from the evil Valla lineage. According to the book, I have Valla’s demon blood running through my veins. I don’t want to think of the book, but worse things come to my mind. My mother’s death haunts me no matter how much I wish to block the horrific images.

  My perception of life is changing and I need time to catch up. I’ve always felt I never quite fit into this world. Now I know why. After everything I have learned in the last forty-eight hours, I know I’ll never be naive or innocent again. The dark reality of truth has tainted my life.

  I hear the back door open and flinch. I jump off the couch and join Dad in the kitchen to find he’s only letting Maggie out. I don’t want to admit it, but it’s obvious I’m afraid.

  “Do you want some food? You must be hungry,” Dad says.

  “I don’t feel like eating.”

  “I know Em, but you should try anyway.”

  I shuffle toward the cabinets pretending my world hasn’t been flipped on its side.

  Sitting at our small kitchen table, I twist my spoon around in the soggy cereal. I really try to eat, but after a few bites, I feel it clawing its way back up my throat. In my mind, I rearrange the fractured pieces of my life, but no matter where the pieces fall, the puzzle never comes together quite the way I want. How do I pretend to be normal when every part of me has been deemed unorthodox?

  I’m feeling sorry for myself when a noise from the other room pricks at my ears. Before I can turn to search for Dad, my mind reaches out to connect with his. I feel a strange sensation just before his thoughts and emotions assault me. I experience the pain and sorrow he’s endured, the worry he feels for me every day, and his resolve and determination to continue fighting to keep me safe. He’s stronger than I gave him credit for. He’s a soldier who has been fighting for me since before I was born.

  “Emily?” he calls from the living room as he nears the kitchen. I sense his movements in my mind but sever my connection with his thoughts.

  “Was that you?” he asks, when he reaches the kitchen door.

  I waver for a moment before I understand what he’s asking. “You could feel that?” I ask in disbelief.

  He nods. “Do you know how to control it?”

  “Umm, not very well.”

  “It took your mom years to do what you just did and if I didn’t have this protection over my mind, then I wouldn’t have had any idea. Have you done that before?”

  “Yeah,” I confess.

  He smiles as he pulls out a seat and sits next to me. I push my cereal away as he leans toward me in anticipation. I don’t know what he’s doing, but sensing his excitement makes me nervous.

  “Do it again,” he instructs.

  “Umm . . .”

  “Go on; do exactly what you just did.”

  I take a breath and concentrate on him. It’s difficult now that I’m conscious of what I’m trying to do. My teacher earlier today was easy, maybe because I didn’t believe I could do it. Now I know. The idea scares me. What if I hurt him like I did Patrick?

  I cut our connection, sitting a little straighter in my seat. “No, it’s too dangerous. I hurt Patrick.”

  He looks stunned. “You got into Patrick’s mind?” He sounds impressed.

  “Yeah, but it was a mistake. I didn’t know what I was doing and I almost . . . I had no control. I could’ve killed him!”

  “Wow!” he says, looking ten years younger. “I didn’t know you’d be such a natural. Who knew it’d come to you so quickly, especially after everything that happened when you were twelve?”

  “A natural? I hurt him! I totally lost control.”

  “If you lost control then Patrick wouldn’t be alive,” he justifies, having far too much faith in me. “But you regained control and didn’t kill him. Now come on and try again.”

  I lie in bed, hugging Maggie. Every last bit of energy has drained out of me, yet I can’t sleep. Each little house creak or gust of wind startles me. My eyelids become so heavy that I can’t keep them open. When they do close, I get a glimpse of soothing oblivion before my mind betrays me by revisiting my mother’s last seconds.

  I turn over in bed and stare at the picture of my mother on my nightstand. Picking up the framed photo, I bring it to my chest, wrapping my arms around it. It’s a senseless thing to do, but it eases a little of the pain. The reminder of good memories must be enough because this time when I close my eyes, my mother is smiling.

  sixteen

  My mind wakes slowly, and I curse the dreadful sound emanating from my alarm clock. Grumbling, I hit the snooze button on the little torture device and turn over on my pillow. Dozing off, I tease myself with a few extra minutes of sleep. What I want is a few extra hours of peaceful morning slumber.

  Soon the alarm sounds again forcing me out of bed. I watch as Maggie stretches and pulls the front half of her body to the floor before leisurely dragging the bottom half along. I laugh at her morning routine, surprising myself. I hadn’t expected to start my day with laughter after everything that happened yesterday.

  Last night Dad encouraged me to practice reading his mind. He tried his best to teach me how to control my extra senses. He explained how to shield my mind, but without a test, there is no way to know if it actually worked.

  Today is my first day back to work since I turned eighteen and that means I get to open the store by myself. It’s something I used to look forward to, but now that it’s here I hate the idea. It means more time alone to think about the very real threat of being hunted.

  When I realize Dad has already left for work, my paranoia hits an all-time high. I find myself checking over my shoulder, frightened by my own shadow. I peek around the shower curtain every few seconds to make sure I’m alone. Once I’m out of the shower, I hurry to get dressed in case men in black suits barge in. At least I’ll have clothes on as they drag me from my home.

  I wipe the steam away from the mirror and freeze as I catch my mother’s emerald eyes staring back at me. It only takes a second to realize they aren’t my mother’s eyes, but my own. When did my dull grey-green eyes turn into emeralds? They are mesmerizing, just as mesmerizing as Patrick’s, making me all the more conscious of how I am different.

  Ominous clouds hang heavy in the sky matching my mood as I drive to work. I brighten up once I’m there. Whether it’s the fluorescent lighting eliminating shadows, the upbeat tune on the radio, or just the normalcy of being at work, I’m grateful for the reprieve.

  Only two customers venture in within the first hour, so I spend most of my time stocking shelves and feeding fish. Ashley was due to arrive at eleven, but ten minutes after, there’s no sign of her. I text her, but there’s no response.

  At eleven-twenty she still hasn’t shown. I’m worried something has happened. I try to call her this time, but it goes straight to voicemail. I keep myself busy, so my mind doesn’t have time to create the worst-case scenario, but I’m running out of things to do.

  Standing at the front counter, I look out the big windows. The clouds block the sun, and there is a heaviness in the air. Then I see them. A pair of headlights pull into the parking lot. The yellow Mustang rounds the corner beaming like a ray of sunshine on this bleak day. A sigh escapes me as relief sinks in. Thank God she’s okay!

  She’s barely parked her car before her door swings open, and she’s running toward the store. She makes it to the entrance as fat raindrops plummet from the sky. As she rushes in, her thoughts overwhelm me. The loud, unwelcome intrusion causes me to stumble back a step before figuring out how to block it.

  “I’m so sorry, Emily!” she says in a hurry. “I got really wasted last night and somehow, I like, totally lost my phone.”

  As she rambles on, the last few days seem to melt away like they never happened. Just like that, I feel like my life goes back to normal.
I feel like Emily Burk, a regular teenager with a normal screwed up life.

  “Why are you smiling?” Ashley asks.

  I try to hide my grin.

  “Oh my God! Something’s different about you!”

  My smile vanishes. How could she know? She eyes me with curiosity, trying to figure out my secret. She can’t really tell, can she?

  “Oh!” she gasps, throwing a hand over her mouth. “You had sex!”

  “What?” I say, experiencing relief and shock simultaneously.

  “You did! Look at you, you’re glowing!”

  “N . . . no . . .”

  “Don’t deny it! Who was he?” she asks, without waiting for an answer. “Ben is still out of town, isn’t he? OH MY GOD! It was the other one! That perfect specimen of a man!”

  I’m shaking my head, but she doesn’t notice.

  “Emily, come on! Spill! Tell me everything!”

  “There is nothing to tell. Nothing happened.”

  Even as relentless as she is, I’m grateful for her interrogation. I’d much rather think of ways to dodge her questions and listen to her invent theories on my love life than to think about the real issues threatening my life. After ten minutes of denying her accusations, a customer enters the store interrupting our conversation.

  Mid-afternoon the clouds let loose, and it pours. No one needs pet supplies badly enough to fight the storm, so the store remains vacant for an hour. In the meantime, Ashley drags as much information out of me as she can. I tell her about my time with Morgan and Patrick, yet she’s only interested in talking about Patrick.

  “So, did you at least make out?” she probes.

  “No! We talked, went on a little boat ride, made s’mores, you know, stuff that friends do, nothing crazy.”

  “And he didn’t kiss you?” She sounds utterly disbelieving.

  I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to lie, but if I tell her about our kiss, I’ll never hear the end of it, and I still don’t know how I feel about that kiss. “Ashley, I’m not sure how I feel about him. He kind of drives me crazy.”

  “He’s supposed to drive you crazy! That’s how you know you really like him,” she answers emphatically, reminding me not to take relationship advice from her.

  “We fight every time we try to have a conversation.”

  “Then stop talking! There are other things you could spend your time doing!”

  “But I like Ben.” I shock myself, as I say it aloud.

  “You can like more than one guy,” she justifies.

  “I don’t trust Patrick.”

  “It’s not like you’re marrying him! You don’t have to trust him to have a little fun,” she sighs. “Look at you. You’re smitten!”

  “I am not smitten!”

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself. I just can’t believe Patrick didn’t kiss you. Of course, you probably would’ve given him a black eye for trying.”

  “You would love his car,” I say, attempting to change the subject.

  “So, he has a nice car, too?”

  We spend the next half-hour talking about his car, and that’s pretty impressive seeing how I know very little about cars. Either way, it makes her happy.

  I change into jeans and a black button-down shirt before heading out the door. Ashley gives me a look of disapproval before I go, offended I didn’t wear the low-cut halter top she offered. I leave work early enough to give myself time to drive to campus and meet Patrick.

  I arrive on campus unsure exactly where we’re meeting, so I walk toward the central courtyard. The rain has stopped, but the sky has me wishing I had brought my umbrella.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket.

  Pulling it out, I answer, “Hey, Dad.”

  “Where are you?” he asks.

  “At school.”

  “Why?” He sounds anxious.

  “I’m going to a performance for class.”

  “Okay,” he says, as his voice settles.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask as I scope out my surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.

  “Everything is fine. Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” I tell him. And I was fine, until this talk with him.

  “Good,” he says. “I wanted to let you know I’m getting on the plane soon so my phone will be off.”

  “Okay.”

  “Will you be all right at the house alone?”

  “Yes, I am an adult.” And I will be hiding under the covers like a little girl.

  “Okay. My phone should be back on in a couple of hours. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Like to check my closet for the boogie man who wants to kill me. Really, Dad, I’ll be fine.”

  “I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t think you were safe,” he reminds me.

  “I know.”

  “I love you, honey.”

  “Love you too.”

  After we disconnect, I see a shadow from the corner of my eye. As I turn, I flinch, realizing it’s not just a shadow, but a person.

  “Oh my God, Patrick!” I grab my chest, trying to calm my galloping heart.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you, love.”

  Crap! And I thought I was careful.

  “You seem a bit on edge. Is everything okay?” Concern touches his eyes, and I wonder if he’s trying to listen to my thoughts.

  “I’m fine,” I huff.

  He nods as if it’s an acceptable answer. “Shall we?” he asks, offering his arm.

  I hesitate, so he lowers his arm and says, “All right, let’s go.”

  The silence is heavy as we reach the edge of campus. His hand wraps tightly around mine, and before I can object, he confesses, “Just let me hold your hand, Emily. I feel better when I can touch you.”

  The feeling of tranquility begins trickling through my fingers, creeping up my arms, radiating through my chest until it fills every part of me. I close my eyes as the blissful serenity takes over.

  Abruptly, Patrick drops my hand, ripping away the harmony like a heavy curtain pulled to reveal a blinding sun in a dark room. With the absence of Patrick’s touch, anxiety fills every cell, leaving no room for peace. I am alert and on guard as my panic returns, threatening to collapse me from the weight of its resounding pain.

  “Sorry, love, let’s wait until you’re sitting down to try that,” Patrick sincerely apologizes. “You’re more drained than I realized.”

  I nod, barely hearing him as I attempt to reject the ache in my gut. Was it this bad before? My surroundings become muffled and foggy, and I wonder if he notices I’m gripping my stomach like it might burst. I can barely keep up with his unwavering pace. The small theatre up ahead becomes a beacon. The sooner we’re inside, the sooner I can sit and catch my breath.

  Inside the theatre an old Hollywood theme surrounds us. The theatre floor slopes until it reaches the elevated stage. The aged wooden floor squeaks as we progress down the aisle. Rows of red velvet seats are packed tightly together like pages in a book. Patrick guides me to the back row where I fall into the plush cushioned seat. He settles beside me, sliding my hand into his. The tranquil sheet of serenity is pulled over me once more. I lean into him, lapping it up. I am distantly aware of my head resting on his shoulder, but it’s too soothing to resist.

  I find myself diving into the depths of a clear blue ocean, lounging in peaceful oblivion. Sleep finds me here in this sapphire abyss. The water swirls and shifts around me until all of the color fades from the ocean. I look around to see where all the bright pigment has gone, only to discover a mermaid swimming toward me in the clear water. I get lost in her cerulean eyes, unearthing all the brightness of the sea captured there. I gasp, temporarily forgetting that I can’t breathe underwater. As I choke, the mythical creature before me wraps her arms around my waist, and we float toward the sun.

  Once we reach dry land, the mermaid’s fins become legs, and the ocean dissipates around us like a mist. The dazzling blue eyes of the mermaid b
elong now to a woman with long blond hair pulled into a loose braid draping over her shoulder. She looks angelic in her white flowing dress. She appears confident, but worry lines etch her face. Before I can ask who she is, she turns to look at her six-year-old child. His blond hair matches hers, and he has beautiful delicate features and long lashes surrounding dull blue eyes.

  An unfamiliar room solidifies around us. Cheap frames decorate the walls while toys scatter the scratched wooden floor. A tired sofa, with torn cushions, sits in front of a small television atop a shoddy table. The only light shines through dirty, cracked windows. I look back to the woman and her son. She kneels in front of her weeping child, wipes his tears, and kisses his forehead, calming him with her soft voice.

  A brawny man enters the room. He appears to be yelling, but I can’t hear him. I conveniently find a remote in the palm of my hand. I tap the volume button until I hear the commotion.

  He sounds frantic. “They’re here! You must go! Now!”

  Before the angelic woman can speak, he puts a finger to her lips and shakes his head. “Go! Now, while you can.” He shifts his eyes toward the boy. “For him, you must.”

  She nods in understanding but is reluctant to leave. The young boy is sobbing as she picks him up, balancing him on her hip. The man shoves a backpack in her hand before kissing them both. Tears well in her eyes as the burly man envelops the woman and child, proclaiming his love for them.

  “Go!” he orders.

  As the woman retreats out the door, her son screams, “Daddy!”

  The picture before me cracks into shattered pieces that fall to the floor. I stare at a giant humming television. The channel is scrambled. I must have lost reception, and I want to change this station. I look to my palm for the remote, but it’s not there. Instead, I find my phone. I don’t remember dialing anyone, but I hear it ringing. As I put the phone to my ear, I hear Patrick’s voice.

  “Emily.” He sounds angry. I don’t like when he’s angry. It scares me.

  “Emily,” he repeats.

  I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t find my voice. I look over my shoulder to see a man dressed in black rushing toward me with a knife in his hand. I attempt to scream, but no sound escapes my lips. I try to run but my legs are heavy, and my coordination is all wrong as if I’m running through quicksand. The man in black is gaining on me, and the only sound I hear is the terrifying footsteps behind me.